Rainy Days and Mondays (and Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays)

Last Sunday afternoon we had to do some unaccustomed labor. Usually on the Sabbath we keep work to a minimum. I do the chores because the animals need to be fed and the eggs need to be collected, and that’s about it. But last Sunday our ox was in the mire. We had hundreds, maybe thousands of apples on the ground – the aftermath of the hail storm – and if we let them stay there another day, they would be in worse condition than they already were and unusable. So we went out with the wagon, buckets, and a rake and spent a couple of hours gathering apples. We filled the wagon, a big bin, three buckets, and a basket with salvageable fruit and sent six buckets of bad fruit to the pigs.

Hail damaged apples waiting to go to the cider mill.

Monday was a gray and rainy day so, of course, I had Karen Carpenter’s beautiful voice singing in my head all day, “rainy days and Mondays always get me down.” But despite some frustration, I tried not to let it get me down. That morning I had some errands to run. I drove over to Bingham Township to Levi Borkhalter’s to see if he is pressing cider. His son told me he is, but only on Saturdays because his father teaches school now. He said if I bring the apples by on Thursday, they could press them early because Saturday was the Amish auction and they wouldn’t press that day. That meant I had to get those damaged apples to last a few days, and I was worried.

From Borkhalter’s I drove up to Fox Hill to the Amish bulk food store and did some shopping. Then I drove down to Newfield to the creamery for milk. In spite of the gray skies and rain, the drive was beautiful. Out in these parts, the way from one place to another is usually not very direct. The roads go where they go and there are no shortcuts. But driving through the farm country and the forests on the back roads makes every trip a treat, even in the rain. The roads are often muddy (on a wet day, on dry days they are dusty), and sometimes they are rutted or narrow, but I revel in the scenery as I traverse them.

On the back roads.

The rest of the day, after I got home, was the frustrating part. First, I put the apples down cellar where it is dark and a little cooler, and prayed they would not rot before Thursday. Then I looked around and saw dozens of things that needed to be done but couldn’t be because of the rain. The garden was a shambles. The lawn was covered with leaves, twigs, and branches from the storm. When I went down to do the chores, none of the chickens were out. They were waiting for me inside the coop where it was dry. But they were not in a happy mood. They prefer to be out. There was a lot of complaining.

Monday evening we drove up to Belfast, New York, and had dinner at the home of our friends, the Leavitts. They have a lovely home filled with interesting things collected from around the world. They served us a delicious meal and afterward we took a walk around their property. We had a great time.

Posing with the Leavitt's sarcophagus.

Tuesday was another dreary, rainy day. There are no songs about Tuesday comparable to Karen Carpenter’s Rainy Days and Mondays. I looked for one. There is Ruby Tuesday by the Rolling Stones, Tuesday Afternoon by the Moody Blues, Tuesday’s Gone by Lynryd Skynryd (I didn’t know this one, I only know one Lynryd Skynryd song, Sweet Home Alabama), Tuesday Morning by the Pogues (never heard of it or them), and others. It seems most Tuesday songs are about relationships gone bad or being hungover. Tuesday was another aggravating day. The yard and gardens in their storm bedraggled state were a rebuke to me as I looked helplessly out at the wet mess.

Speaking of looking, Tuesday morning I had an appointment at the eye doctor. I hadn’t had a checkup in years, and thought I’d better. I’ve had to use reading glasses for years now to see things close up. Now the eye doctor tells me that my distance vision isn’t good either. So I’m getting bifocals. Way to make me feel old (older?), doctor. It seems to be happening more and more these days.

Apples on my big King of Tompkins County tree.

In keeping with my developing theme for the week, on gray and rainy Wednesday morning, I looked up songs about the day. I didn’t know any of them and most of them were depressing, like Wednesday Morning, 3 A.M. by Simon and Garfunkle, off their first album released in 1964. It’s a beautifully sung but sad song about a man looking at his sleeping lover for the last time because he robbed a liquor store and in the morning he must go away. The other songs I sampled weren’t any happier and none of them were as nicely performed as that one. Maybe the old nursery rhyme that says “Wednesday’s child is full of woe” has something to do with all that sadness.

I spent Wednesday morning canning tomatoes. At that point, I was so tired of this blessing of abundance that I contemplated just giving the rest of them to the pigs. It wouldn’t be considered a waste really. They would turn them into more pig, and that’s a good thing. But I couldn’t do it. Instead, I washed them, cut them, cooked them, strained them, and canned them. Sitting in the reek of cooking tomatoes for most of the day, I realized that my dislike of them is deeply rooted in my very early memories of choking down stewed tomatoes as a child. I have always hated tomatoes raw or in any form that in any way resembles stewed tomatoes. Thick and seasoned tomato sauce or soup or ketchup I love, but no other form of tomato.

That brought up another tomato memory. When I was on my mission in Japan, going door to door, the polite Japanese housewives would often offer to give us a drink. I was in Neyagawa a suburb of Osaka at the time of this memory. My companion and I would take turns at the doors. If it was my door and a drink was offered, I requested water or mugicha (a cold tea made from scorched barley). My companion however, knowing that I detest tomatoes, would always ask for tomato juice for both of us. He said he did it to help me build character. And to be polite, I had to drink it. Needless to say, he and I did not get along. He was only my companion for two weeks and it felt like the longest two weeks of my life.

One more tomato memory. When Stacey and I were first married, we went down to visit her grandmother, Esther Shillig. Grandma Shillig had a nice meal prepared for us, pork chops, applesauce, green beans, and a half of an enormous tomato, lightly broiled with a bit of Parmesan cheese sprinkled on top. I had to be polite and eat it. To get it out of the way so I could enjoy the rest of the meal, I immediately cut it into chunks and swallowed them whole. Grandma Shillig noticed it was gone and said, “My you must like that. Let me get you more.” I think I probably went pale. My dear wife came to my rescue and said, “He doesn’t really like tomatoes, grandma.” I could have kissed her right then – Stacey, not Grandma Shillig.

So now back to Wednesday’s steamy, tomato filled kitchen. I finished that batch and I could have done more, but I’d reached my tolerance level. At least I could see that the end was in sight. There’s only enough left now for one more batch – and then we’re done with tomatoes. Hooray! Then it’s on to the other things waiting to be processed – pumpkins, onions, garlic, carrots, and apples. So many blessings!

On Wednesday our one-time neighbor up the road, Jeannette Buck, passed away. She’d been in declining health for some time and had been in a nursing home for a few years. For all that time, Stacey has gone to visit her every Tuesday evening and they would talk and watch Jeopardy together. Jeannette was a living encyclopedia of local history. Stacey and Miriam worked with her to record and organize all the information she’d accumulated. Her husband Bob, who died in 2008, was my third cousin once removed. I know Jeannette is in a better place now and happy to be with those family members whose memory she cherished all her life. She was 85 years old. Her passing seems like the end of an era for Gold.

One of the delights of apple time is the things Miriam makes from them.

Thursday was – guess what – gray and rainy. The Thursday song list wasn’t much better than the other days. I didn’t know most of the songs on the list I looked up and listened to. There was a song, Thursday’s Child, sung by the amazing Eartha Kitt, that was sad. It was also inspired by the nursery rhyme that says “Thursday’s child has far to go.” Eartha Kitt used that as the title of her autobiography. The song I liked best on the list was Sweet Thursday by Johnny Mathis. I like just about any song sung him and this was a happy love song.

I could have done that last batch of tomatoes on Thursday, but I just couldn’t bear the thought of it. Instead, I pulled up what was left of the beets and canned them. I don’t grow a lot of beets because I’m the only one who likes them. Kurt uses some of them and he had already taken all he wanted. I canned what was left so that I can have pickled eggs and red beets at Easter.

The last of the beets.

Finally, on Thursday around noon, the rain stopped. By 2:00 p.m., although things were still a little damp, I couldn’t wait anymore. I mowed up all the leaves and twigs from off the lawn. It was good to see some semblance of tidiness again. I felt so much better. That afternoon, Stacey and I took our hail-damaged apples over to Levi Borkhalter’s to have them pressed. Because we are turning them into vinegar, it didn’t matter much that they were bruised and many of them not ripe.

The front lawn before mowing.

The front lawn after mowing.

Friday the sky had cleared a little and it didn’t rain, so happier songs seemed appropriate. When I looked, I found that there were too many songs about Friday to spend much time listening to them all. I think it must be the most popular day of the week in the pop/rock song writers’ world. Most of the songs are upbeat because the weekend is either almost here or already underway. I knew a few of them.

That morning, I drove back out to Borkhalter’s and picked up our pressed cider – thirteen gallons of it. When I got it home, Miriam helped me load the two big five gallon vats into the downstairs bathtub for the first fermentation. Making vinegar is a two step process. The first step is to ferment the cider to alcohol. I sprinkled some yeast into the vats and away we went. It will take about two weeks for that fermentation to be complete. The bathroom will smell pretty boozy for a while. The second step is to ferment the alcohol into acetic acid. To do that, I’ll add vinegar mother, a slimy glob made up of cellulose and acetobacter bacteria that we saved from the last time we made vinegar. The second fermentation takes longer, sometimes five or six months. Ten gallons of homemade vinegar should last us at least a year. The other three gallons, I canned.

Cider vats in the bathtub.

Canned apple juice.

That afternoon, I pulled up what was left of the carrots. I grew several varieties this year, a little round orange type (very popular, and already gone), a red type, two long orange kinds, and a dark purple variety. I washed them and later Stacey cut them up and prepared them to be freeze dried.

The last of the carrots.

Stacey chopping carrots.

Despite the return of gray and rainy weather, I felt a little more upbeat on Saturday. It has as many songs about it as Friday and I knew many of the ones on the list I looked up – Saturday Night’s Alright for Fighting by Elton John, Saturday in the Park by Chicago, Another Saturday Night by Sam Cooke, Piano Man by Billy Joel, Come Saturday Morning by the Sandpipers – there were so many more. It was a good list. Saturday songs run the range from upbeat to introspective, kind of how the day usually runs for me. I start off with a list of things to do, optimistic that I have a whole day to do it. Then by the end of the day I’m tired and the world seems tired as the week settles in to its close.

I was a bit dismayed when I looked out that morning and saw rain. It drizzled off an on all day, but I had plans and Stacey to help me and we didn’t let that stop us from working outdoors all day. We spent a couple of hours cleaning out rain gutters. We bought some gutter guards that are supposed to keep leaves out of the gutters. Before we could install them, we needed to remove the leaves already in the gutters. Stacey did most of the work since it involved going up ladders and onto the roof. I can’t handle heights. In fact, just watching Stacey up there made me squeamish. I mostly helped move the ladder and supervise things from the ground. I’m glad we got that done because it looks like it’s going to rain for the next four days and the leaves are falling fast.

Stacey blowing leaves off the roof before installing gutter guards.

After the gutters were done, we moved on to the raised bed garden. We pulled up what plants remained in the beds and I turned the soil. Then Kurt came over and we decided to till the edge of the yard where the sunchokes are such a problem. Kurt drove his tractor over and hauled away all the dead stalks that I’d cut a few weeks ago. Then he tilled. While he was tilling, Stacey and I dismantled the old glass pepper box. It was in bad shape. We made it years ago out of repurposed windows and some of the glass was broken and the wooden frames were rotting. We took it apart and then Kurt tilled the spot where it had been. So that part of the garden looks great.

Kurt on his tractor tilling.

The sunchoke bed tilled.

From there, we went out to the big garden. Stacey and I cleared rocks from the row where the garlic and onions were and Kurt tilled the row. Then Stacey and I pulled up spent tomato vines, eggplants, and tomatillos and either threw them to the pigs or the compost. By then it was dinner time and we called it a day. We got so much work done in spite of the weather. It was a good day.

There are a lot of pop/rock songs about Sunday too – Easy Like Sunday Morning by the Commodores, Pleasant Valley Sunday by the Monkees, Groovin’ by the Young Rascals, and many more. I didn’t listen to any of them this morning. I like to listen to hymns and other sacred music on the Sabbath.

It’s a gray day and it looks like rain could start at any moment, but that’s okay. It’s a day of rest and it can rain all it wants. Church went well today. Stacey was one of the speakers and she gave a great talk. In a little while we are going to Jeannette Buck’s funeral at the Gold Church up the road. Stacey is also speaking at that. The coming week looks wet, but I will do what work I can. With October sitting  just ahead, I’m hoping for some bright blue weather and lots of arboreal color. We shall see.